


golden boy

by leradny



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF GUTTING AND QUARTERING A DEER, Gen, Genderswap, Lawrence is abusive, Paula isn't but she's still an assassin, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, SHE IS VERY MUCH AN ASSASSIN, a ten year old refuses to eat for a whole day, and hunting animals, family bonding over weaponry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 17:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15800850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leradny/pseuds/leradny
Summary: "Apollo?" Jade asks. For once the confidence in her voice is washed away. "Did Dad really try to shoot you?"(Gender-switch AU, but only for Artemis.)





	golden boy

Apollo is ten when Lawrence drives him and Jade to the range to teach them to shoot.

It started out with just Apollo. And then Paula stopped them, but not because Apollo was ten years old learning to use deadly weapons. She asked, "Why aren't you taking Jade?"

"I tried, sugar!" Lawrence insisted. "Ain't coming because she don't want to. Can't make her move for love or money."

"Speaking of money--" Paula rounded on Jade. "Young lady, I paid to reserve those spots at the range."

"So you go."

"I have work, Jade. Go with your father."

"Guns are a dime a dozen, Mom," Jade snipped from her perch on the couch. "And you don't have to stop in the middle of a fight to reload a knife."

Paula was a master of reverse psychology, which was why she was so much better with with Jade. She said, "You're right, Lawrence, don't take her. She won't be good at ranged combat, anyway." And before they knew it Jade put on a jacket and shoes, giving Paula the stink-eye, and followed them out to the car. She called shotgun.

\- - -

Jade is pretty bad at shooting. The problem is, as Lawrence helpfully explains, she ain't consistent. Or motivated. Once she starts hitting within a few stripes of the bullseye, she calls it a day. "Little girl, I asked you to aim for the head and you giving me a shot in the knee."

"So he'll hold still while I aim again!"

It makes Lawrence laugh, but he still makes her reload the rifle and shoot again. By the end of her turn he's riled. It takes a lot to get Lawrence angry--really angry--and once he snaps, "Again!" instead of laughing at whatever Jade says, she listens and focuses on lining up her shots and improves enough that Lawrence's good humor is back. "Awright, little girl, snipers ain't made in a day."

To Apollo's dismay, he's good.

"Lookit that!" Lawrence whoops when Apollo gets a cluster of bullseyes in just half an hour. "My boy's a natural here!" He smacks Apollo on the shoulder, and Jade glares. Apollo glares too--at Lawrence.

"I thought you said snipers weren't made in a day," Jade grumbles.

"Didn't take a day for him to get born, did it?" Lawrence laughs. "Nine whole months. Hey--boy--" Apollo tucks his chin into his chest as he packs away his things. Lawrence, still laughing, grabs his chin and forces it up. "Boy, I'mma call you Chuck if you keep making me do that. Anyway--you want to head out with your dad and his pals on a hunting trip?"

Apollo says, loudly and clearly, " _No._ "

"Next weekend, Chuck! We're bringing home the bacon!"

"Daddy, I want to go too!" Jade simpers. "I'll practice extra hard if you take me!" Lawrence laughs and nods. He's gloating too much to realize she just wants to see Apollo miserable.

\- - -

Apollo comes home with crossed arms and a sulk while Jade skips into the living room. "Hi Mom! Dad says we're going hunting next weekend. You want to come?"

"Don't see why it matter," Apollo mutters. He hasn't said a word since he got in the car. Not that Lawrence noticed, whistling along with the songs on the radio. Jade noticed, tried to needle Apollo into saying something, but after a few tries she stopped.

Paula looks up from her cooking and sees Apollo. She frowns. "Don't take the kids hunting, Lawrence. We don't even need to. We can just walk to the store and get some meat in ten minutes."

"It's the principle, sugar. We gotta get them used to the job somehow." Apollo gets very interested in staying in the hallway and untying his shoes. He keeps his chin down as Jade and Lawrence fill the room.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," Paula says. "No one's paying you to hunt deer. It's a waste of gas and bullets if you don't come back with anything."

"Huh! Say that like you ain't seen Apollo shoot." Lawrence guffaws. "Oh, wait! You didn't! Ten year old and he got a handful of bullseyes like it was breathing!"

"Apollo's a born sniper, Dad says," Jade smirks. "Must be his name."

"I'm not paying for that trip," Paula informs them. "After Jade's tantrum this morning? Get your own rounds."

"Fine, fine." Lawrence reckons up some figures and decides, "The Doc's been asking around, I'll see if he got a job. Be a week or two if the Bat don't show up." Apollo throws his shoes into the hallway, stomping to the room he shares with Jade. "Aw, Chuck! Don't be ornery, two weeks ain't that long."

"Why are you calling him Chuck?"

"Little joke between him and me, sugar."

"Do you even have permits for the kids?" Paula asks.

"Shoot."

"Whatever you do, I heard someone's snitching on the forgers."

"Sugar, I got my license! Weren't so late I could hop over right now and add them both."

\- - -

Dr. Crane does have a job for Lawrence. Apollo would have climbed to the roof of the police department himself if he hadn't seen the signal light up. Batman shows up but he gets dosed, and the rest of it goes off without a hitch.

"Stupid Batman," Apollo mutters when Lawrence comes home with an envelope full of money in his fist.

"Don't you worry, boy, we got past him in the end."

Lawrence pats him on the shoulder. Since he's convinced that Apollo wants to go on the trip, correcting him is futile. And it turns out Lawrence has a legitimate hunting license under his real name and everything. Adding both kids on really is as easy as he said. No one suspects a thing when they hear Lawrence's accent. And he's friends with one of the clerks. And even if he wasn't, it's barely fifteen bucks for the two of them.

"What did you need the rest of that money for?" Apollo asks. Dr. Crane had paid a whole lot more than fifteen bucks.

"Gas. And we're heading to the gun shop!"

Apollo thinks about ripping up the piece of paper and throwing the pieces out onto the freeway, but it's harder to think of ways to dispose of the tags.

The gun shop is just as bad. He thinks about picking the wrong gun, but it's sectioned off with clear signs. They have deer rifles, duck rifles, hog and boar. Once Lawrence explains he's looking for his kids, they're steered right to the youth section. Jade sniffs around, picking them up.

"Chuck! Anything look good to you?"

"I don't know what's good," Apollo says. "The cheapest." If it's cheap it might jam on him.

"Boy, we ain't cheaping out! Look--I'mma pick one out for you."

"Maybe I want that one." Apollo points to the most expensive youth rifle in the shop. If it's stuffed with overpriced gimmicks, it might still jam on him. Anyway, his dad might argue if it's too expensive.

Lawrence takes the gun and puts it on the counter. "Thought you'd be a high-baller." He checks the price tag and whistles. "Well! Can't go fishing with no toothpick and floss!"

"And--and--and I want lead-free rounds!" Apollo says, despairing. "I ain't swallowing no lead!"

"Whatever you want, son." Lawrence scans the ammunition shelves. "Box of copper for my boy there. Regular for me and Jade."

"Mm-mmm, Lawrence." The shopkeeper tuts and shakes his head with that inexplicably Southern way. "Nothing against your boy but I wouldn't get copper rounds for no greenhorn. I don't even like copper--and I been shooting since I was younger than him."

"Oh, he's good enough for copper rounds. Where's that dart board you got?"

"You serious, Lawrence?"

" _Dad,_ " Apollo snaps.

"Come on, Chuck. Throw it. Show him what you got or you won't get the copper." Apollo lines it up normally and tries turning his head as he throws the dart. But Lawrence claps and shouts, "You see? See?" He looks back to see the dart in the bullseye and the shopkeep laughs and throws a box of copper rounds on the counter. "He didn't even have to look!"

Compared to that, Jade's two-fifty rifle looks reasonable. If Jade was reasonable. Really, she just doesn't care.

\- - -

The day of the hunt marches closer and Apollo starts griping at everything. Paula's cooking sucks. Lawrence is too loud. Jade is too Jade. On the night before, it's so bad he's sent to bed to do homework instead of eating dinner. Halfway through, there's a knock.

"Apollo." It's his mother. And since she's the one that sent him to bed, Apollo lets her in. He tries not to get angry. She doesn't seem too mad, either. Then she says, "We need to talk about the hunting trip."

Too late. "I ain't going!" he shouts.

"I don't think your father will take no for an answer this time."

"But I don't want to! I'll--" He scrabbles for a reason that isn't the real one. "I'll be bit by mosquitoes the whole day!"

Paula shuts the door and sits down by his bed. "I know why you really don't want to go." She holds up a hand when he protests. "Don't think of it as something bad just because your father likes it. Hunting is how people get food."

"I still don't want to." When he thinks about it his throat gets all tight.

"I sent you to bed without dinner because you might change your mind when you get hungry."

"I've _been_ hungry before, it don't mean I want to kill nothing for it."

"Then don't eat breakfast, either."

"Not even then," he tells her.

\- - -

Breakfast on the day of the hunt is rice porridge cooked with chicken stock, topped with sliced sausages and crumbled bacon. "I used up all the meat in our freezer since you're _so sure_ you're bringing something home." Paula ladles out Apollo's bowl last, looking him in the eye. Apollo stares into the bowl of meat, stomach churning. His mother can be vicious when she wants. Lawrence and Jade chow down happily. Apollo looks up once and thinks about going vegetarian.

"Chuck!" Lawrence slurps his spoonful. "Eat up! Ain't you skipped dinner last night? Can't have my sharpshooter faint in the middle of the hunt!"

"Yeah, yeah," Apollo mumbles, pretending to sip a spoonful.

He's starving.

It's delicious.

He can't eat it.

Paula sets the gallon of orange juice in the middle of the table, just blocking Lawrence's view, then starts eating her own bowl. She never talks while she eats so she finishes a spoonful before saying in Vietnamese, "You'd better not throw another tantrum, Jade."

"Mom!" Jade shouts. "That was three weeks ago! Apollo was the one who complained about everything!"

"You're right. Drink your orange juice, Apollo." He does what she says and he feels a little better. When breakfast is over, Paula swoops in to take all of their bowls and turns the faucet on full blast, emptying Apollo's bowl before Lawrence can see it's untouched. Then she shoos them out of the house.

"Go!" she orders Lawrence, pointing to the truck. "Get out of my house! Don't come back unless there's meat in the trunk like you've been blabbing about for three weeks!"

"Love you too, sugar." Lawrence gives her a peck on the cheek and heads out to the car. Apollo lingers at the door, with his stupid hunting rifle packed away in a case in his arms.

Paula puts a hand on his shoulder and leans in. "Are you hungry?" she asks in Vietnamese.

"K-khum."

"Drink lots of water." She smoothes his hair back, like she's petting a grumpy cat. "If you still can't pull the trigger, leave the camp and send up a smoke signal. I'll take you home." They only have the one car--officially--but Apollo has long since learned to stop questioning how his parents mysteriously procure money, vehicles, weapons, and other things that never seem to stay more than a night at their house.

"Come on, Chuck!" Jade cries gleefully. "Let's go kill that baby deer!"

\- - -

The only mercy is that they have to spread out so that crossfire won't get them, so talking is out of the question. Apollo is by himself with a hunting blind between him and the bush, and mosquitoes buzzing around trying to get at his skin. He swats at them, feels guilty, and then one of them gets to his neck and he feels less bad. He tears his bandanna off to try and dry off his neck and face, but it's already damp and wringing it out only does so much. The humidity gives him a moment of peace before he's drenched again.

The radio on his collar crackles. In his giant headphones that also keep the shots from blowing out his eardrums, his father's voice sounds faintly. "Chuck, stop moving around! Can hear you like a dozen rhinos in a china shop. Ain't your momma teach you stealth work?"

He wants to tell his dad to fuck off, but since Lawrence also has a gun, Apollo presses the radio and hisses, "There's mosquitoes."

"That's all? Boy, get used to it! Get one hour out of the city and--hold up."

A branch moves. Apollo looks up and the branch moves further and it turns out it's not a branch. It's an antler.

"Boy! Chuck, you see that?"

He turns the radio off. Lawrence won't mind if he hears a shot. He don't have to hit it. The deer grazes off the trees, nibbling at the real branches and wandering right into his line of view. Well, Lawrence will know if he hits wide. But... he don't have to kill it. Then his stomach rumbles and not even a gallon of water's going to quiet it. He's so hungry he can't think straight. Can't remember what's the best place to shoot something so it won't die. No, wait, he does remember humans--but not deer. He wants it to run away. Where, where can he shoot? The ground? Will Lawrence believe him if he says the deer dodged?

He can't--he shouldn't--he doesn't want to--

But in a flash he thinks about that mouthful of porridge he spat out and he closes one eye and leans forward. He aims for the chest. The deer doesn't suspect a thing.

He pulls.

The deer falls to its knees and doesn't get up. The stag. It has antlers. He. He doesn't get up. Apollo climbs out of the bush, staying a little ways off in case the stag's playing dead. He doesn't remember how hard a deer can kick but he bets it's going to hurt. The stag's eyes are open. Not blinking. Apollo kneels and feels for a pulse.

Nothing.

He's so hungry.

"Thank you," he whispers on impulse, and something inside him loosens. He won't ever like this, but he can do it. He can do it--for a reason.

"Chuck! Chuck, I heard a shot! You get it?" Lawrence rampages around in the bush for a while before finally getting to the clearing. "Whoo! Jade! Come look at this! Didn't I say your brother was a sharpshooter?"

"Dibs on the antlers!" Jade yells. "I want some knives."

"Hold your horses, we ain't dressing it here!" Lawrence says. "That's your momma's job. She does it better."

They tag the deer and Lawrence and his friends haul it into the trunk. It's divvied out between them.

\- - -

When they get home Paula's at the door waiting for them with crossed arms, like she hadn't just been shadowing them on the hour-long drive from and back.

"Who shot it?" she asks.

"Who do you think shot it!" Lawrence thumps Apollo on the shoulder.

\- - -

Paula throws a giant bag into the back seat and gets into the driver's side. "Come on, I'll teach you how to gut it." Jade coughs and disappears into the house. "It's Dr. Isley's house!" Paula calls, as if that means something.

"I've been there before!" Jade calls back. "It's okay."

Lawrence shrugs. "I gotta stay here to watch her, then."

"Apollo." She looks through the passenger window.

He gets in. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"You'll see."

The house has a big backyard, a high fence, lots of nice shady trees. Apollo doesn't remember the name of the well-dressed lady who answers the door until Paula introduces them. "Pamela, this is my son, Apollo. Apollo, this is Dr. Pamela Isley."

"Welcome to my home." She is tall but soft-spoken with not a strand of bright red hair out of place. "Don't you have a girl, too, Paula?"

"Jade didn't want to come today."

"Apollo, is it?" Pamela asks.

"Yes, ma'am," he says. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Isley."

"I'm not married," she says graciously. Something in her perfume smells sharp and biting. "I only ask that you keep away from my private office. It's the shed over there." She points to it in the garden and it ain't no shed. It's a cottage with little patches of flowers bundled around it, and a window and a white picket fence. The window has flower-printed curtains and the door has a padlock. It's a very private office.

He nods fast. Tucks his chin down. "Yes, ma'am."

"What a sweet boy," Pamela says. "I'm sure he's not Lawrence's, then." She and Paula laugh at the same time, like this is the same joke they crack every time they meet.

He wishes it wasn't a joke--but his hair's the thing. He might have Paula's skin and eyes, but Lawrence gave him that blond hair.

\- - -

Paula brings the truck into the backyard and hauls the deer onto her shoulders. "Don't _ever_ do this if you're still on the field," she warns him, "Or other hunters might shoot at it. I'm only doing this to keep off the flowers." She spreads a tarp over a patch of bare ground and then assembles a portable skinning rack over it. They tie the deer head up. "Other people do it head down," Paula says. "But this way is more efficient." She gives him a knife and Apollo grips it in a shaking hand. When he stands there too long, she sighs. "Apollo."

"I--I--I can't."

She puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right. This is food. This is how it gets to your plate."

"I'm going vegetarian!" he swears, and he starts crying.

She takes the knife out of his hand and sets it in a sheath before putting it on the ground. Then she sits crosslegged on the ground and motions for him to sit down. "Have you thanked it yet?"

"He," Apollo snaps. "Lookit those antlers."

"Have you thanked him yet?" Paula corrects herself without any sign of irritation.

"N-no..." He remembers. "Wait, yeah. I did. How'd you know?"

"When I was in Alaska I met some people who still hunted the old way with bow and arrow. They believed a slow death was better." She looks at the bullet hole to the side of the chest. There's no exit. "If an animal died too fast their spirit would stay here, confused and lost. And they would leave the head with food in its mouth for the afterlife. If it was a seal they used fresh water." The deer's eyes fell open sometime during the drive home and it stares out, glassy and unblinking and dead, dead, dead. Paula stands and Apollo hopes she'll close the eyes, but she stares into them as if the deer is still alive. "The family I stayed with didn't let me close the eyes. They said to leave the eyes open so they could find their way out of this world."

His heart calms down a little.

"We're not Inuit. But we can thank him for feeding us." She puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at the deer. Apollo waits but she doesn't speak. After a long silence, too long, she looks at Apollo. "What are you waiting for? I'm not the one who killed him."

He's still freaked out by the eyes. He decides to stand up and closes them, but even after that when he's face to face with the deer's lolling head, it's too much and he starts crying again. But he wipes his eyes and stands up straight, chin high, and he means to say 'Thank you' but what comes out is "Cám ơn vì món quà của bạn."

Paula nods.

He's the one who makes the first cut, jagged and sloppy. Paula tuts and corrects him the whole time.

The guts spill out all over the tarp and the only reason Apollo doesn't get sick is because there's nothing in his belly to throw up. The heart is still safe in the ribcage and when Apollo digs in under it, up to his elbow, he cuts the veins at the top and pulls it out. There's a bullet hole but no exit in the heart, either.

Paula takes it and squeezes it, then takes her own knife and fiddles around before the point hits something hard and the bullet falls out with a clink.

"You don't want to bite down on that," she says.

"It's copper," he says numbly. "Not lead."

"You still don't want to bite it. If you switch to bowhunting we could just pull the whole thing out. And you don't need to worry about going deaf, either."

"I'll think about it."

She puts the bullet in a pocket, then kneels on the tarp and sorts through the guts like she's sorting laundry. When she takes out a roll of butcher paper and folds the liver and heart neatly into packages, it starts looking a little more civilized. She even gets a pair of kitchen scissors and snips up the intestines into manageable hunks, packing them away.

When Apollo prods at the deer, it's stiff. Paula shakes her head and says they'll have to let it wait for a day until rigor mortis eases off. The organs are washed and put in the empty freezer. Once they're frozen, Lawrence calls up his friend who actually wanted them.

\- - -

The next day around the same time, Paula's in the truck. "Jade! Get in the car!"

"I have homework," Jade says.

Paula rolls her eyes and waves Apollo in. An unspoken rule of their house is, if Paula can't get Jade to do anything on the second try, it's a lost cause.

"Why does Jade get to sit out, Mom?" Apollo asks, jealous.

"She's just fussy because she hates getting dirty. But you hate the other part, so it's better that I teach you that instead of your father." A stop light. Paula waits until the light turns green. "I hated it too, at first."

It's a long time before Apollo asks, "Does it get any easier?"

"For some people." She fixes her eyes on the road. "Not for you, I think."

"What about you?"

"Sometimes."

\- - -

Skinning the deer takes a long time. They stop at the neck. Paula makes a cut all the way around and makes the last cut and it falls off in one hairy bundle onto the tarp. When Apollo asks what they'll do with it she says, "I know someone who can tan it."

"The head," Apollo says. "Jade wanted the antlers."

She shrugs. "I'll cut it off. Pamela will hold it for us while the antlers dry."

She doesn't cut through the neck with one fell stroke. The knife's too small for that. Instead she cuts around the joints, pointing out the big veins to him. Then she grabs the antlers and-- _twists_ \--and Apollo realizes as the head comes off with the most awful wet snapping sound that _this is part of the job, too_.

It's easier without the head and the hide to quarter the deer proper. He's cut up chickens for dinner. It's kind of the same. Just bigger. "Never try to cut through the bone. You can do it with chickens because they're birds. Their bones are hollow. If you try it on deer you'll blunt the knife. Cut around the joint and twist." She does the first one, the back leg, same as she did with the head, and she pulls it free and lets it drop onto the tarp. "The front ones are easier, so you do those."

He seizes the deer's leg and prods at the shoulder with the point of his knife, pulling down. Paula instantly stops him. "Cut away from yourself! To the side, not up or down. If you slip, you'll hit your leg or your stomach and this knife will go right through you."

When it's over, finally over and done with, Paula piles everything onto the tarp and ties it up and hauls it into the truck again. She makes it look easy. Simple. Her hands are covered in deer blood. The dismembered limbs and body pound a thump into the back of the truck that Apollo won't forget if he lives to a hundred years.

They don't go inside to wash off. Paula turns on the garden hose and rinses him and his clothes over a patch of dirt. There's a couple bars of organic biodegradable soap waiting for them--and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He hadn't seen anyone put them there. Paula hoses the tools off too. In a few minutes all the blood's run down into the dirt and it's yellow, not pink. Paula brings out a towel and pats at his hair and then hers. And they're just a Vietnamese mother with her blond son, a little damp.

They drive out and Miss Isley waves from the porch as they pull onto the road. He wonders what kind of doctor Miss Isley is, and decides he doesn't want to know.

Paula drives more carefully. She follows the speed limit exactly and doesn't even try to beat yellow lights. When a cop car shows up and tails them, Apollo gets nervous. "Oh, that's just Tim Monroe," she tells him. She pulls over and the officer who comes out of the car is sharply dressed and friendly. "Timothy!"

"Paula!" he exclaims. "If I'd known it was you!" Paula smiles with teeth. "But anyway--just wanted to give you a heads up that there's blood coming out of your truck. Deer?"

"Yes, Tim--it is hunting season," she says, and digs the permit out of the bag.

He gives it a glance and then waves. "Good, good. Where's the head?"

"We had to leave it," she says. "Stag. Like carrying a tree."

Officer Monroe sighs with envy and catches sight of Apollo. "Is that your son?"

"Yes, his name is Apollo."

"Apollo! What a name!" Something about his voice--something about his eyes--gives Apollo the creeps when it's put on him full-blast. The voice is sugary and warm, his eyes sparkle. In any other place, it'd just annoy Apollo. But the fact is, they're in the heart of Gotham with a dead deer in their trunk and blood seeping out, and this man keeps smiling like it's a load of baseball gear. "I'm friends with your dad Lawrence." Yes, that would explain why he doesn't like this man. "Now, son--did you go out hunting with your dad for the first time?"

"Yes, sir."

"And let me guess, you were the one that shot it."

Apollo tucks his chin down. "Yes, sir."

"Really?" He steps back, exaggerating his surprise. "Better look me in the eye or you won't convince anyone."

"He did. He's just shy," Paula says. "Lawrence told me he got a handful of bullseyes on the first day."

"Tell you what, buddy--when you turn eighteen, sign up for the PD. I'll keep an eye on you!" He clicks his tongue when he does that stupid gun thing with his hands. It makes Apollo feel sicker than gutting that deer.

"Well, Tim, we really need to get home or the meat will spoil."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Throw a towel in the back and you're good to go. Good to see you, Paula!"

"Have a nice day, Tim! I'll tell Lawrence you said hello." Paula gets out and takes out the towel she'd used to dry Apollo's hair, stuffing it into the seam of the truck where the blood's leaking out. She keeps driving perfectly, every now and then glancing over to silently ask with her eyes if Apollo is all right. He nods. He can't bring himself to smile.

This is what his mother is good at.

\- - -

His father's idiot friends come up to their apartment, taking whatever portion they wanted, until what's left looks almost like any other package from the butcher's.

For dinner Paula cuts a hunk into cubes along with celery, onions, and garlic for venison stew. They have an old baguette lying around that Paula lets Apollo slice up. He's done this hundreds of times but today it's easier than it was. And when he sits at the table it commands his whole family's attention. Jade's eyes glitter with excitement. Lawrence grins at him. Even Paula turns her head, though she doesn't smile. Apollo dips his spoon into the bowl and takes a sip.

He's starving.

It's delicious.

He eats the whole bowl down to the last drop, but for the first time he mimics the way his mother eats--politely. She puts down her spoon before she drinks and then puts the glass down before she goes back to the soup. She waits until she's done eating to talk, and she waits until she's done talking to eat. Because something died for this meal, and it feels disrespectful to guzzle it down like his father, or chatter away like Jade does, the way she eats a bowl of popcorn during a movie. When he's done he uses the bread to mop up the leftovers and wipes his mouth with a napkin. Paula puts a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are soft.

When dinner's over and he and Jade are kicking around playing video games and reading, there's a knock on the door that's too polite to be Lawrence.

"I washed off the bullet for you," Paula says. "In case you want to keep it."

The tip of the bullet mushroomed out. Washed off, there's no trace of blood, so it looks like a bright copper flower with four little petals.

"Pretty," Jade remarks. "Lian."

Paula comes closer and holds it out to Apollo. "If you don't want it, I'm throwing it away."

He picks it up and puts it on his dresser.

\- - -

The next day after school he actually, willfully looks through Lawrence's hunting magazines on the coffee table and finds a catalog with an archery section.

"What you thinking, Apollo?" Apollo decides he would rather be called the name he hates by the parent he hates. He tucks his chin down and holds off answering until Lawrence says, "Chuck!"

He looks up and says shortly, "I don't like that rifle."

"Don't _like_ it!" He's bellowing loud enough to be heard by the neighbors, which means he's not really that mad, just irritated. "I spent damn near a thousand dollars on that!"

"Well, it's a thousand dollars of crap. I want a bow." Lawrence sputters and Apollo keeps leafing through Cabela's. "Return it if you want. I don't care."

"It's _registered_ , boy! I can't go returning registered firearms like it were a pair of jeans!"

He wonders briefly why his father bothered to not only buy but register a youth rifle legitimately, then ignores the question. "Bows are quieter."

"Well, there's that. Also cheaper," Lawrence muses. "Awright, Chuck. Lemme see who wants that rifle and then I'll get you your bow."

"Oh no!" Paula dashes into the room. "You're not selling anything, Lawrence! You'll undersell and overbuy. That's why you spent a thousand dollars on a rifle that he's going to outgrow. We don't have to register bows, either. Did you think of that?"

"No, and that's why I married you," Lawrence says. He heads into the kitchen for a beer. "Listen to your mother, Chuck."

"Whatever," Apollo says, pretending to be annoyed with both of them.

"Why does he keep calling you that?" Paula goes to the couch and looks over Apollo's shoulder. "What are you looking at?"

"That one." He points to a ridiculously complicated compound bow.

"Too fancy," she says, like he'd known she would. "Don't get a _compound_. They'll break if you look at them wrong."

"What about this one?"

"That one? It's plastic!" She shakes her head and takes the catalog and for the first time in weeks, Apollo smiles.

\- - -

They end up driving to Vulcan Archery, a shop in the hills that deals in traditional wooden bows. They're a little early. The shopkeeper is named Daphne Tranh and she's still opening up, but she says hi to Paula like they know each other and lets them sit outside on the porch. There's a big Akita Inu under a chair, and a guitar resting on the back of a chair. Apollo sits with the dog and pets him, gently. Scratches behind the ears. He finds a good spot right behind the shoulder and the dog wags his tail, panting happily. He tries not to think of the deer's head snapping off, but--there it is. He tenses up. The Akita starts sniffing at his face.

When he wanders off to a corner and goes to sleep, Apollo picks up the guitar and plucks at it. He doesn't know what he's doing but it feels nice.

"Mom, I want one of these," Apollo says.

"Please say you mean the guitar."

He grins and flops down on the floor with the dog, who wuffs softly in irritation. He wriggles away, then tries extending a hand to the dog, who allows it as long as he keeps scratching between the ears. "That too."

"Get off the floor, Apollo," Paula says fondly. "The shop's open."

"I carve all the bows," Daphne tells him. "My mother is Japanese. I made those yumi too." She points to a rack of bows longer on the top than the bottom, spindly beautiful things. "Don't get one of those for your first bow. It's too hard--but I can show you how it's drawn."

It's inherently dramatic even without an arrow--she has to bring it outside even though she's dry-pulling, because the bow is longer than she's tall. It arcs like a slender tree in a slow wind as she draws it over her head and brings it down to her cheek. There's a sound the bow makes as she plucks the string and lets go. It's not musical, but it's closer to a guitar than a gun. They don't need earplugs or muffs. And it's beautiful in a way guns aren't.

To get his draw length, Daphne has him stand up straight, and while he's not told to keep his chin up he lifts it anyway. She measures his arm span from fingertip to fingertip and divides it by two and a half. They settle on a rack of bows with a draw strength of about twenty pounds.

He thinks, maybe it might be easier like this.

Then Daphne whistles and the dog comes running out as she walks them to the range out back with a few bows to try. Apollo sees the deer leg coming out of its socket. He hears the thud the deer made when it fell into the back of the truck. The dog is just sitting there smiling and he's holding a weapon again. The bow is unstrung and he uses that as an excuse. "Can you show me how to string it?"

She walks him through it patiently and gives him an archery glove. He fidgets with it and focuses on the wooden target. It's wood, it's wood. It won't hurt. It won't die. He's still a little tense, even more so after Daphne adjusts his posture, and the arrow lands just outside the bullseye. But when he looks back both his mother and Daphne are smiling. Not the same way Lawrence did, glorifying the potential for violence. They smile the way people smile when they see someone with talent. And this makes him feel a little better.

"Let me give him some lessons," Daphne says. "Discount for training a god."

"You're the expert," Paula answers. "But it'll have to be weekends so he doesn't miss school."

"Of course, of course."

The bow, carved from ash wood, weighs next to nothing compared to the rifle. The arrows are lighter than the box of copper rounds. Since Apollo has to stand, or at the very least sit upright, he feels more like a person when he holds a bow. Lying down with his rifle against his shoulder made him feel more like a snake or a cat waiting to pounce. Paula asks her leatherworking friend to make an archery glove out of some of the buckskin that they gave him. And with another piece Apollo gets an armguard.

This is what he wears while Daphne trains him. It's not as horrible as gunwork. No hot rounds to dodge, no earmuffs to prevent deafening. No fire. And he can buy time saying that it takes longer to learn archery than gunwork. This is true, but Apollo still hits the bullseye well before a normal ten year old would. They spend a lot of time trekking through the forest outside the shop with the dog because carrying a bow is different from carrying a rifle. Daphne teaches him the names of the trees and plants and how they're either medicine or poison, and that's more fun than anything his parents taught him. Less fun when he brushes past a tree covered in what he thought was plain old Virginia creeper, but Daphne quickly ends the lesson and sends him home for a shower because that was poison ivy.

After an hour of scrubbing, he gets a rash anyway and grits his teeth through a whole week of Jade and Lawrence laughing at him. He doesn't mind so much when he realizes he can use it as an excuse to dodge a hunting trip.

Near the end of hunting season, Lawrence insists that they have one more hunting trip. And when Jade complains about how boring it was the last time and stays at home, and Lawrence starts calling up all his friends, Apollo can't back out. Luckily, one other friend agrees to come along so at least Apollo doesn't have to suffer through Lawrence's idea of father-son bonding. It's Shane from Tennessee who lives in Maryland now. Apollo's never met him and neither has Paula. He's the best marksman Lawrence knows and apparently they go way back, so he's a little wary. They drive down to Wharton to meet Shane halfway.

Shane is black, not tall or short. He's slim; when they meet in the parking lot, Lawrence's accent somehow gets even thicker. "Shane!" Lawrence yells, thumping him on the shoulder. "Just as skinny as the last time I saw you. Where you been, toothpick!"

All Shane says is, "Lawrence." But his silence has a focus to it, the way Paula's does. He also has a rifle. But he asks to look at Apollo's bow and and seems like he knows what he's doing.

"Handcarved," Shane says. "Beautiful. Going to give it to your grandkids like my granddaddy gave me this." He taps the empty Winchester 54. Then he turns to Apollo. He's not the sort to crouch when he talks to kids, and Apollo normally hates that anyway, but he feels like he wouldn't mind if Shane did it. "What's your name, son?"

"This here's Apollo Liêm Crock, but that's too much name for a boy. I make it Chuck." Lawrence laughs and smacks Apollo on the shoulder. "Little joke between him and me."

Apollo tucks his chin down, scowling. But his dad's friend says pleasantly, "How long you been shooting, Apollo?"

And Apollo breathes a sigh of relief. Not only is Shane tolerable, he might even be likable. Lawrence's other friends immediately started calling him Chuck too. It was horrible. "A few months. I started out with a rifle."

"Damn well should have stayed with it!" Lawrence says. "He's an ace, I tell you. Was going to call you, see if you could learn him something--but then he went and got this bow of his and he's crazy about it."

"Nothing wrong with that," Shane reasons mildly. "I was that age I was always picking up something else. Damned if I didn't pick up bowhunting too. How many yards you up to?"

Apollo thinks fast. "I can get thirty on standing targets sometimes." He can--when he feels lazy and Daphne feels like humoring him. He can actually get up to fifty yards now. Once, for the fun of it, Daphne moved it to seventy. She didn't mean for him to shoot at it but he did. He hasn't told Lawrence any of this. "My teacher's set me on moving targets, too." She set him on it the second week, but Apollo held off telling Lawrence until the first month passed.

Shane whistles. "Then why you mad at him, Lawrence? Thirty for a bow is at least a hundred with a gun--grown men training for ten years can't get it."

"That's the thing is the time," Lawrence tells him. "Rifle in his hand he got bullseyes the first day."

"Talking like he ain't twelve," Shane dismisses it easily. "He got time, Lawrence."

"I'm eleven."

"Well, son, that means you got more time." He looks to the park. "Now ain't you trying that bow out on some deer?"

Apollo tucks his chin down again. Shane raises an eyebrow, but thankfully says nothing as they head down the trail.

\- - -

There's less mosquitoes this time. Or maybe he got used to it. He's left with his thoughts in the bush, his dad and Shane as backup. After reading the rules again, Apollo realized that Lawrence shouldn't have carried a rifle with both Jade and Apollo there, but he did and he's got one now. Apollo doesn't have the nerve to protest it. He's too busy trying to figure out what to do with his bow, anyway, if a deer comes out.

When a doe wanders into view, he puts his hand on his quiver, but his hands shake and he can't pick it up. He can't cheapen his arrows by killing something with it for fun.

"Chuck!" his dad comes in through the radio. He has earbuds instead of earmuffs today. "Why ain't you shooting, it's right there!"

"It's thirty yards!" he snaps back. "Shane said that was a hundred for guns, didn't he?"

"Shoot, forgot about that..."

Apollo picks up a twig and snaps it between his fingers. The doe hears it and leaps away and Apollo takes the opportunity to pretend to be mad instead of relieved. "There she goes!" Apollo climbs out of the brush and unstrings his bow. "You scared her off! Thanks, Dad!"

" _Don't you mouth off like that!_ " Lawrence rises from the bush, seething, and all Apollo wants to do is dive back down under cover. His dad yanks his hunting cap off, blond hair and hunter's orange flashing like a neon sign against the brown and green of the forest. "Had you some beginner's luck the first time! Now you bitching because your target got spooked and run away? It happens and it's gonna happen again!"

"Jesus, Lawrence!" Shane shouts. He runs out of the bush and pulls Apollo behind him before anyone can react. "That's your _boy!_ You got a hot rifle on you!"

Apollo's blood runs cold as he realizes he forgot all about his dad's gun. Lawrence looks down at it, then sighs and starts packing it away, muttering, "Don't know why you got some damn fool notion to use that bow anyway--shorter range--ain't no use--"

Apollo tucks his chin down and starts packing up his bow. All his relief is gone and he's dreading the ride home. Shane glances at him, then comes up and puts a hand on his shoulder. It reminds him of his mother. "Apollo, I'm driving you home." Before Apollo can say anything, he's being steered back onto the trail--and as long as Lawrence is spitting mad, he doesn't protest.

"Where you taking my son?" Lawrence roars. Apollo starts walking faster.

"Home," Shane says. "Hunt's over."

"I can drive my own son home!"

"You ain't fit to drive him, Lawrence!"

"Fit! I ain't had nothing to drink!" Bushes crackle and limbs snap and Shane starts walking faster--again keeping Apollo ahead of him, not behind. "Boy you come back here or I'll--!"

"You wanna go back to your pa?" Shane asks lowly.

Apollo shakes his head.

"Drive yourself home!" Shane calls over his shoulder.

"You got to mind your own business, Shane!"

"You got to cool off! Ain't no grown men I know yelling at his son while he holding a rifle!"

"Bull _shit_! I wouldn'ta _shot_ him!" is the last thing they hear before they get out of sight. Apollo doesn't know where Shane parked and accepts Shane's lead numbly, still wondering why Shane is behind him instead of ahead.

\- - -

The car is black. Apollo isn't a car person, but even he can tell it's a much older make than any car he's seen, as Shane ushers him into the passenger seat. Apollo stares out to the trail where they came out of the forest, wondering if Lawrence tracked them. His dad is a good tracker, but he's never seen him this mad before. They wait, but no blond hunter comes stampeding out of the bush.

Shane puts the key in the ignition, then stops and takes a minute to himself. " _Lord_ Jesus!" he says. He leans forward, pressing on the bridge of his nose. Then he buckles up and looks over to Apollo. "Scared the devil right outta you and back into him, I say."

"Well--" Apollo says, buckling up with numb hands. "He wouldn't have shot me." To be fair, he only says this because he's certain Lawrence forgot about his gun too.

"He wouldn't have _meant_ to," Shane says kindly. And Apollo thinks that's still giving Lawrence too much credit.

The car starts. He wonders if his mother would have followed him out this time, too. Her younger child, alone with his temperamental dad, an unknown friend, and a bunch of deadly weapons, out in the wilderness.

Oh.

He looks out of the window into the side mirror to see if there's a strange car following them with a familiar silhouette in the driver's seat. And then he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"We got a good head start on your pa," Shane says. "If I know Lawrence he won't see straight enough to find his nose in front of his face till he simmers down."

Apollo doesn't bother to say what he was really looking for. "How'd you know my dad?"

"I met him when we was in our twenties, I reckon." Shane stares contemplatively out at the road. "Thought marrying and having kids would have settled him down. And it did, but not enough by a long shot. You think your pa's got a bulldog mouth now? You got no idea what he was like back then."

"Why were you friends with him, then?"

"He calls it that? Being friends?" Shane smiles. "I called it staying on his good side." That makes sense. The only tolerable friend of Lawrence is someone who just keeps his head down, doesn't make waves. Apollo tucks his chin into his chest. "Hey now. I got a question, Apollo." He looks up. "Your pa come mighty close to pointing a gun at you today, so I'd like it if you answered honest. He ever done something like that before?"

"No."

Shane observes him evenly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he did, son."

"Well, he didn't. He's just annoying."

"Hmm," Shane says. "How's your ma?"

"He don't hit her," Apollo admits--grudgingly. "He don't hit me or my sister neither. She'd hit him back if he did."

"You like your ma better?"

"Course I do."

"I mean you feel safe with her. She seem like the type to yell at you with a gun in hand?"

He thinks of how his mother named him after a god, named Jade after a precious stone, and how even though he hated every second of gutting the deer he still did what she said because he knew she'd teach him right. How careful she was teaching him to handle knives. And he admits all of a sudden, "I was looking for her, not my dad." Shane nods. "I thought--maybe she followed us out. She's like that. Worrying. Supposing we got lost or ran out of gas..." He tucks his chin back down. "Or if m-my dad pointed a gun at me."

"You do that a lot, son," comes Shane's voice, gentle. "Put your head down like that. Ain't your neck sore?"

"It's my head," Apollo mutters. "I can do what I want with it."

"Awright." Shane makes a turn. "Pa said you live in Gotham, right?"

"Y-yeah. North Gotham."

"I know how to get there. Don't worry. You'll be home."

The rest of the ride passes in silence.

\- - -

Paula's waiting for them, arms crossed, foot tapping. When they pull up into the driveway she leans over the balcony. "Lawrence!" she shouts for all the world to hear. Or at least all of North Gotham. "It's almost Sunday! Why are you bringing him home so late? Where's our car?"

Shane rolls the window down. "Beg pardon, ma'am, but I ain't Lawrence."

A pause.

"Did he shoot himself in the leg?" Paula asks. "I bet he did. Thank you for taking my son home, Mr..."

"Call me Shane," he says. "And Lawrence didn't shoot himself in the leg, at least not before we left." Shane opens the car door for Apollo and ushers him up the stairs. "Apollo, you're looking mighty tired so why don't you head on to bed while I talk to your mother."

He passes her as he stumbles through the doorway and she grips him by both shoulders, hard. He stops in case she wants to ask him what happened, but she just looks into his face. Whatever she sees, it's not something she likes. "Jade is sleeping," she tells him. "You should be too. Go." She sends him off and he sheds his bow and gear onto the couch before blearily finding his way to bed.

He can't bring himself to stay up and listen.

When he wakes up--strangely, on his own instead of being woken--he goes into the kitchen for breakfast. His mother is nursing a cup of black coffee with a stern frown on her face, a frown which she quickly discards when she sees Apollo.

"About time you woke up," she says, with none of her usual irritation. She slides a bowl of corn pudding across the table and Apollo stares at it, confused. She doesn't normally make his favorite dessert for breakfast.

"Where's J-Jade?" he asks.

"In the living room doing her homework. Because she didn't stay out until one in the morning."

"I didn't mean to," he argues weakly. "Where's--where's Dad?"

She shrugs, and he's instantly relieved. "No idea. Go do your homework."

He takes his bowl of corn pudding with him to the living room. Jade's on the couch with some report or something in front of her but she's not doing anything. She quickly abandons pretending to work on it and fixes her eyes on him while he collapses onto the couch with his bowl in his lap. He forgot a spoon. He doesn't bother getting up.

"Apollo?" Jade asks. For once the confidence in her voice is washed away. "Did Dad really try to shoot you?"

Apollo can't remember where Lawrence's gun had been pointed, where his hands had been. He tries, but all he can hear is his dad shouting and barreling out of the bush. "He got mad," Apollo answers. "I guess he--he forgot he was holding a rifle. Why're you surprised?"

"Because--" Jade's eyes shift. "Because--I thought you were kind of his golden boy." There's so many things wrong with that. Apollo just shrugs. He looks at his bowl of corn pudding, wondering if he has the energy to go back to the kitchen.

"Apollo." They jump at Paula's voice, right over their shoulders behind the couch. She stretches her arm over the back and a spoon flashes. "You forgot this." She waits until he starts eating before sitting down and opening the newspaper, scanning it briefly. Apollo wonders where Shane went. Where his dad is. Did Lawrence get lost in the woods? How long will it take for Lawrence to get home?

Would he mind if Lawrence didn't ever come back?

And then he realizes that Shane stayed behind him the whole way to the car because _Lawrence was behind them with a gun._ "Wh-where's Shane?"

"He went home," Paula says.

All the way from New Jersey to Maryland, wherever he lived. It's a long drive. "I wanted t-to thank him." He doesn't know why he keeps stammering. "I f-forgot Dad had a gun on him--and--and--and I shouldn't have made him mad, but Shane--" Shane willingly acted the human shield for an eleven year old boy he'd only just met.

"He said you're welcome." Paula puts a hand on his shoulder. "And Apollo, it is not your fault that your father lost his temper while holding a gun." Her eyes get steely in a way Apollo hasn't seen them before. "He should have known better, not you." She catches herself and looks back at Apollo. "Eat your breakfast."

"Y-yes, Mom."

He dips his spoon into the bowl and then suddenly the whole night rushes back into his head. The hunt--the rush of relief when the deer ran away, then the sight of his father standing up in the bush with a rifle he shouldn't have been carrying. The drive home, his father's absence. Everything is too confusing. Too many things are happening wrong. Jade's being nice to him. He can't even stop stammering. He can't swallow the pudding and coughs it out into the bowl and Paula doesn't even chide him about the mess. Before he knows it he's wailing and his mother's put her arms around his shoulders and Jade's pulling the bowl out of his hands and everyone needs to stop being nice to him right now.

"You are safe now, con trai--everything will be fine--"

"I didn't even want to _go!_ "

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to attach actual dates according to the hunting season in New Jersey, but after trying to research it I gave up and left it vague. THERE ARE SO MANY RULES and, well, I just don't think an established assassin like Lawrence would follow them all anyway.
> 
> I um, watched a few videos on quartering deer as research. I thought, "It's only a minute, how bad can it--AHHHHHHH GROSS"
> 
> I decided that Artemis as a boy would be more outwardly emotional and sensitive, since Greek Mythology has that difference. It manifested as the stammer that comes up when he's upset. I gave him a Southern accent because... okay, I just like writing Southern accents. Then it became a way of hooking into that rural Southern gender binary and how such an abusive, toxic person like Lawrence would abuse Apollo in a different way from Artemis. And how Apollo's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder would manifest differently from Artemis. I have PTSD and quite frankly with the life she's had I'd be surprised if Artemis didn't have SOMETHING going on.
> 
> Paula, pre-paralysis, was SO FUN TO WRITE. Assassins who are married with children. Talk about dysfunctional family dynamics!!! I seriously want to write another one-shot about how she and Lawrence met and got married. Or, like, a story where she just hangs out with all the other members of the Gotham underworld.
> 
> Daphne of Vulcan Archery is a shout out to Greek and Roman mythology.
> 
> The character Shane is a shout out to the novel Shane by Jack Schaeffer. I love that novel to pieces. The movie was different and I have my gripes with it... but I like the movie, too.
> 
> I'm unsure where I'll take this if I continue it, because the plot deviated a WHOLE LOT from my first ideas. I do know, however, that APOLLO WILL MOST CERTAINLY WANT TO BE A DOCTOR AND HE WILL BE THE UNOFFICIAL TEAM MEDIC. And also, Lawrence might be the one to break his back instead of Paula.


End file.
